


Maybe Tomorrow

by fannishliss



Series: Kink List [14]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Chastity Device, Childhood Memories, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Self-Bondage, Steve has no limits, True Love, mentions of the bad things Hydra did to Bucky, my kink list, not when it comes to Bucky, rape/non-con elements remembered but not explicitly described, this is not BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky was badly abused by Hydra and is very averse to touch. Steve puts himself in restraints at night so Bucky won't feel afraid.  Their therapist suggests another restraint that might help Bucky feel safe -- a chastity device for Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Kink list: chastity devices.  
> This also fills: bondage, wrists and ankles.  
> I have posted a "kink list" and am committed to writing for everything on the list in alpha order!
> 
> That said, this is the least kinky use of bondage and a chastity device you will ever read!! It is not within a context of BDSM at all.  
> This is the device in case you are curious: http://www.holytrainer.com/en/male-chastity-device.asp  
> Not an endorsement!! I have zero practical experience with this device!!! lolz :)  
> Steve is using the plain, clear one. 
> 
>  
> 
> This story is about Bucky and Steve's lifelong true love and their commitment to getting back what Hydra stole from them. Life is not perfect for them, but I hope you will enjoy. 
> 
> Therapist Theresa Johnstone is in this story, if you remember her from "Like a God." But this is a different universe, Bucky has a harder time in this story, so she is not as close with them as in the previous story.

  
  
The first time Bucky Barnes slept with Steve Rogers, Bucky was seven and Stevie was six. Bucky had gotten hold of a beat up copy of _The Warlord of Mars_ and regaled Steve with stories of the various races of Mars, their different colors, and why the green and red ones were the best.  Stevie challenged Bucky to figure out where the oozy ones that HG Wells described came from, and the rest of the night was full of whispers and giggles and awed gasps, subsiding into dreams of Martians.  Steve dreamed he had four arms and rode a giant beast, while Bucky dreamed he was a red-skinned scientist serving a noble prince who would lead Barsoom to new freedom.  There was lots of running and leaping and flying in both their dreams; they were little boys after all.    
  
The first time Bucky Barnes slept with Steve Rogers, Steve was fifteen and they just couldn’t hold themselves back any longer.  They were like one person, divided into two bodies — one strong and capable, one weak and prone to disappointments — but the two halves felt a pull to join together stronger than anything else the boys had ever encountered: stronger than the vague, disapproving frowns of teachers; stronger than the slightly less veiled threats at church; far stronger than the mocking jibes of school fellows who knew little more than Steve and Bucky did.  Steve and Bucky touched, and their touches burned.  They kissed, innocently at first, and then with building passion. They embraced, their souls striving to merge, their bodies helpless not to follow suit.  They held each other, and nothing had ever felt so right.  They shared a new secret, under the covers, in the dark, a secret that bound them closer than blood.    
  
After Steve’s ma died, Bucky, age eighteen and proud possessor of a high school diploma, got them a room on Montague Street, their own place, where they lived, alone together, for almost six years.  It was heaven on earth in that little, bare, cold water flat, where Steve kept house and tried to cook and sweated through pneumonia more than once in Bucky’s arms.  Nothing mattered more to them than sleeping wound together in each other’s arms every night.  All Bucky’s evenings keeping up appearances with dames at the dance hall, every job Steve landed and lost after being sick too much — none of that mattered, because at the end of the day, they were together, and that meant everything.  
  
After Pearl Harbor, and Bucky’s number was called, Steve and Bucky were torn apart for more than a year.  Steve went awol and jumped out of a plane and took on a megalomaniac single-handedly to bring Bucky home — and the 107th with him.  No one questioned why Steve and Bucky always shared a tent. The Captain and his Sergeant wanted it that way, and that’s the way it was.  
  
After he woke up in 2012, Steve couldn’t sleep.  No matter how far he ran, how many punching bags he destroyed, he couldn’t tire himself out. That cold empty bed was like a bed of nails to Steve.  He fell asleep, reading, on his couch, got a few hours every night, and that was enough to keep him going.    
  
And then, Bucky came back, and it was hard, so hard, in ways that Steve knew to expect, but could never really be prepared for.    
  
Bucky made contact with Steve partly because he remembered being Bucky and that Steve was his lifelong best friend — but mostly he came back because he was terrified of being recaptured, and he was starving, unable to keep anything but water in his stomach.  He felt terribly vulnerable — running from Hydra had never worked before — but he was desperate to get away from them, so he tried one more time and reached out to Steve.    
  
Steve took Bucky to Tony without delay, and Tony pulled half a dozen trackers out of Bucky, and disabled devices in his arm that delivered electric shocks, drugs, and poison.  Tony and Bruce also got to work on figuring out what Bucky could eat.   Steve wanted to offer Bucky all his favorite foods, but after seventy years under Hydra’s control, Bucky’s stomach was atrophied from being forcefed a liquid diet.  Bruce worked out a menu of broths, bland food, and smoothies that Bucky could eat, but he wouldn’t eat anything at all unless Steve ordered him, afraid it would make him sick or that it was a trick and would lead to punishment.  
  
Hydra had never allowed Bucky to sleep — keeping him awake with a cocktail of drugs, wiping him when he became erratic, and storing him in cryo between missions.   Now, he hardly slept at all, only a few hours a night, and when he did, he usually woke up screaming.  
  
If something hurt, Bucky wouldn’t mention it.  His handlers had shocked him and shot him, beaten him and cut into him, muzzled him, thrown him in cryo, ran high voltage through his brain if he spoke.  Bucky was afraid to let anyone come near him.    He preferred to find a place with good sight lines and hole up there, not moving unless he was ordered.   Anyone but Steve would have consigned Bucky to the professionals.  It wasn’t just that Bucky was traumatized and terrified.  He was also a super soldier.  If startled, he threw his “attacker” across the room, improvising weapons from broken glass or a shattered chair: chaos erupted around Bucky between one heartbeat and the next.  
  
Steve acknowledged these problems, but refused to back down.  Keeping Bucky close, talking to him in a calm and rational fashion, offering him choices whenever possible and orders when necessary — Steve embraced his duty without a single flinch.    
  
It hurt Steve so much to see all that Hydra had done to Bucky, all they had taken from him.  Bucky had been beautiful, charming, dashing, friendly, at ease in every kind of situation, and always, always devoted to his Stevie.  He was still beautiful in Steve’s eyes, nothing could ever change that — but everything else was buried, hidden under layers of trauma and hyper-alert defenses. Steve knew he had to be patient, and take things slow, but it hurt so much, not being able to simply reach out and touch the man he loved, not being able to look him in the eye and see that love reflected back.    
  
Day by day, Steve coaxed Bucky through routines: breakfast, exercise, checkups with Bruce and Tony and a good counselor Sam had recommended, lunch, reading, exercise, suppertime, conversation, washing up, bedtime.  Steve didn’t need that much sleep either.  He usually stayed up till one and woke up again at five.  He tried to interest Bucky in ways to pass the time.  Bucky would read any book Steve gave him, intently, from cover to cover, and he could report in minute detail the information he had gleaned, but he didn’t seem to enjoy it.  Bucky would sit quietly next to Steve while a movie played on their gigantic Stark flat screen, but even though he was watching, he never reacted to what happened in the story.  Steve liked watching documentaries, and so they watched that kind of thing together. If the documentary involved any unsolved assassinations, Steve didn’t question, and Bucky stayed mute.  
  
Bit by bit, slowly, slowly, Bucky began to unwind a little.  Weeks passed, and Tony and Bruce didn’t hurt him. Their counselor, Ms. Johnstone, encouraged them and gave them simple homework. Steve never punished Bucky, no matter how he lashed out or what he did wrong.  He began to show a little more confidence in choosing what to wear and what to eat and even what to watch when night rolled around and it was time to choose a documentary.    
  
He began to speak a little more, polite little words like please and thank you and good morning.  He still watched Steve like a hawk, needing to be near him at all times.  Jarvis kept track of where Bucky nested, a different place every night — closets, air ducts, corners, under things, behind things — but it was always, not far away from Steve.  
  
At last, one night after the last book had been shut, late night milk drunk and teeth thoroughly cleaned, Bucky followed Steve into his bedroom.  
  
“Please,” Bucky whispered, looking at the bed.    
  
Steve’s heart gave a lurch so hard it was almost like the old days.  
  
“Sure thing, Buck,” he agreed, trying for nonchalant.  
  
They stood there, looking at the bed.  Bucky didn’t need to change into pajamas, since soft t shirts and pajama pants were his standard attire.  But Steve felt awkward, the awkwardness so much the worse because he was feeling awkward around Bucky.  Normally these days, Steve slept naked.  He was plenty warm at night, and it felt good to shed his clothes and fall into bed, unprepared for anything, just for a handful of hours, before dawn came all too soon and he got up again to put everything back on.  
  
Steve looked at Bucky, looked at the bed, and turned to his bureau.  He found a giant Mickey Mouse t shirt that had somehow found its way into his bedroom (fans sent him presents, which he mostly signed and sent on to children’s hospitals) and a pair of loose boxers.    
  
“Um,” he said, “I’ll just…” and darted into the bathroom to change.    
  
When he got back Bucky was already under the covers on the right side of the bed.  It was a huge bed compared to the old days — a California king, Tony said — so Steve had no problem getting in on his side without disturbing Bucky.    
  
It was a strange sensation, being so close to Bucky in the bed, yet the distances between them were still so vast.  Steve remembered the goggles and face mask Hydra had made the Winter Soldier wear; sometimes it seemed like Bucky’s face was still shuttered off like that.  Steve closed his eyes, and there, in his memory, was Bucky’s smiling face, those beautiful pale blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, that vaguely crooked front tooth that showed when he smiled in just the right way, the tall forehead and broad face that Steve had sketched a hundred thousand times, the sweet, perfect features that Steve had fallen asleep to so many times, the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes and the first thing he saw when he opened them again.  
  
Bucky had always been a restless sleeper.  Now, Steve was not sure if Bucky would sleep at all. His breathing was even and his eyes were closed, but he was curled up in a tight ball on his right side, left arm protecting his body.    
  
Steve remembered a little song that Bucky’s Ma used to sing to them when Steve was sleeping over:  “Good night, sleep tight, wake up bright in the morning light, to do what’s right with all your might…” He sang it very softly, not very well — of all the things the serum had given him, carrying a tune was not one of them.  
  
Bucky’s long-lashed lids lifted; his eyes were blue and clear.  “Night, Stevie,” he said, and just like that, Steve relaxed and fell asleep.    
  
Bucky’s recovery seemed to gather momentum after that night.  Letting his guard down enough to sleep with Steve in his big bed, he seemed to find reassurance that things had really changed: he could trust Steve; he was no longer in Hydra’s clutches; he was not about to be punished with some fresh hell for a minor deviation; and the things Steve offered were real and not tricks designed to set him up for a fall.  
  
His eating habits improved.  He ate slowly and paid attention to his stomach, gradually able to eat more things he’d once enjoyed.  He started choosing movies— old movies he remembered from the thirties, things he and Steve had seen together, or things they couldn’t afford to see.  He asked Jarvis to play more music, and Jarvis turned out to be the ideal DJ.  He played things Bucky might know from long ago, and more modern songs that Bucky might like.  It was such a joy to Steve to look over at Bucky, to see him smiling and nodding his head slightly when Jarvis played a song he might like. Steve’s heart, which had been given quite a workout since Bucky’s return, almost stopped when he caught Bucky dancing, feet moving swiftly through the patterns he had known so very well.    
  
Best of all, every night, Steve and Bucky moved a little closer together.  Steve could lay his hand on the bed and Bucky would lay a hand over it, smiling gently and wishing Steve good night.  As the nights progressed, Bucky sometimes uncurled, ending up sprawled on his back, snoring faintly, which almost made Steve weep for joy.    
  
Bucky took an interest in cooking.  He began to interact more with Steve in the gym.  He told Bruce one day that his arm was hurting him, and thanked them with a smile when Bruce and Tony solved the problem. Things were getting better.  Steve might never have the old, charming carefree Bucky back — he had to admit, that Bucky had been taken from him by the bombing of Pearl Harbor — but Bucky was getting better, every day, which made Steve so, so happy.  
  
Gentle, reassuring touches became more common.  As kids, Steve and Bucky had been all over each other, heads bent together over some new project, never farther apart than arm’s reach.  They walked hip to hip, Bucky’s arm around Steve’s narrow shoulders.  That was just how it was.    
  
Now, Bucky was afraid to be touched.  He held himself still, gripping himself like a vise, when Bruce and Tony looked him over; they touched him as little as they could manage.  Bucky hadn’t received a gentle touch since before getting on that train in the Alps.  When Hydra had him, every person who looked at him had evil self-interest in mind, if not active sadism. Causing pain to the Asset was no big deal, it was even encouraged because if it got too bad he would mentally withdraw, and that was convenient to them. They controlled him with vicious levels of pain, and never offered the slightest consolation.    
  
Now, Bucky could accept it if he initiated the touch himself.  One amazing session with their counselor had even found Bucky hugging Steve, while Steve pressed himself flat against the back of the couch, tears running down his cheeks. It was getting better, but it was still hard. Steve had to telegraph broadly when he wanted to touch Bucky.   There were landmines everywhere.  Passing something to Bucky could trigger his defenses, if he felt like the object being passed might be used as a weapon or might be pointed at him.  Many, many things were hurled across the room while Bucky leapt away. Steve knew better than to approach him from behind — for a while, he actually considered wearing a bell.  Instead, he snapped the fingers of his left hand when Bucky’s back was to him.  Bucky could always hear him, of course, but the intentional sounds Steve made reassured Bucky that Steve wasn’t sneaking up on him.    
  
At night, the couch had become a safe zone. Steve held his place while Bucky inched closer, till some nights, Bucky’s thigh was pressed against his. Sometimes, Bucky leaned a little on his shoulder.  And always, now, they went to bed together.  
  
Steve longed for the old days.  He tried to be content with Bucky’s amazing progress, but he couldn’t help remembering how they’d slept, entwined, arms around each other, legs entangled, one of Bucky’s knees between his knees.  If only they could get there, somehow.  But sleep was when Bucky felt most vulnerable.  Too many times Steve had brushed against Bucky in the night, to have Bucky come violently awake — sometimes springing out of bed, or worse, tackling Steve with an arm across his throat.  Steve knew not to struggle, and so far, Bucky had always come aware before any real harm was done. Still, it made Bucky miserable, setting him back for a few days every time it happened.

But, Bucky knew how much it meant to Steve for them to share a bed, so he never gave up, no matter how much it scared him.  The setbacks were hard, but to Bucky they were less important than the feeling of rightness and wholeness they shared, recharging each other every night, just by sleeping close together.     
  
Eventually Steve had an inspiration.  He went to Bruce first, because he couldn’t bear to see Tony’s face when he outlined his idea: restraints remote-controlled by Jarvis — restraints that Steve could put himself into at night, so that Bucky would feel secure that Steve couldn’t touch him while they were both asleep.    
  
Bruce smiled, a sad-eyed compassionate smile. He had been in love, but he had to leave his loved one behind to keep her safe.  There were no restraints in the world that could hold the Hulk back.  He was more than happy to design such a system for Steve, and he made Tony build it without any of his clever comments.  
  
Bucky looked sad at first when Steve put himself into the restraints, but then he remembered how good it had felt when Steve had held himself still for Bucky’s hug.  Steve demonstrated how Jarvis could instantly release him, and how he was actually fairly comfortable.  The cuffs for his wrists and ankles were heavy and well-padded, attached to a sturdy new bed frame.  It was all worth it when Steve lay back in the restraints and Bucky curled up next to him, then slowly inched over to rest his head on Steve’s arm.  Bucky scooted closer, wrapping himself around Steve bit by bit.  
  
Steve was crying again. “Sh,” Bucky said, “don’t cry,” and kissed away his tears, which only made him cry harder.  Steve had always been stoic.  As a kid, he’d been determined that tears, at least, would not get the better of him, so he just never cried.  Even when his mother died, he refused to cry, even though he knew that it would have been easier just to let it out.  
  
But now, with Bucky, he was like a leaky faucet.  The horrors Bucky had faced, the psychological scars that still restricted him every day, made Steve feel so angry and helpless. He tried to stay calm, but every so often, the tears broke free.  Usually it was when Bucky made some astonishing new triumph, and Steve was simply overwhelmed with how glad he was that Bucky was back, and safe with him, and doing better every day.  Steve could stay strong and keep trying not to dwell on the awful things that had happened to Bucky before, but now, when he saw Bucky’s little smile of happiness at spreading a piece of toast with marmalade, just because he felt like it, made Steve sob with emotions too complex to easily convey.    
  
After the restraints were added to their bed, giant strides forward seemed to happen every day.  Bucky asked Steve to brush his hair, and sat while Steve brushed until his long brown locks were glossy and smooth.  Bucky kissed Steve on the cheek and held his hand when they were reading.  Bucky made lunch and brought it to Steve, a delicious sandwich with all Steve’s favorites, and another one for Bucky, just how he liked it.  Bucky read a book and told Steve all the interesting parts, a little hint of his old charming self reappearing in his conversation.  They watched a documentary and Bucky volunteered that he had been there, and he’d leaned against Steve and held his hand for the rest of the night.    
  
Every night Bucky grew more comfortable with Steve, holding him close with the security of the restraints.   Then, one morning when Steve opened his eyes, Bucky was already awake.     
  
“Steve,” Bucky whispered.  
  
“Good morning,” Steve smiled.    
  
“Steve,” Bucky repeated, stress in his voice, and Steve realized Bucky was hard.  
  
Steve got himself off on a regular basis, every night before bed and again during the day if he needed it.  He didn’t know if Bucky would be able to feel that way again, ever, after everything that had been done to him.  Steve was so, so grateful to have Bucky back and refused to want more than Bucky was ready to give.  So, he was conscientious getting himself off.    
  
Bucky’s erection, pressed against his thigh, shook Steve’s resolve.  His heartbeat sped up and he felt himself begin to harden. He knew Bucky’s dick as well as he knew his own; in some ways, they’d been lovers since the moment they met, latching onto each other with innocent childhood devotion, and moving to each next level as those parts of life opened up to them.    Bucky was, had always been, and would always be his lover.  Intellectually, he could imagine being with someone else — Peggy for instance.  But that was all purely theoretical. Now, here was Bucky — he was back in Bucky’s arms, and Bucky was hard — hard for him.    
  
“Whatever you want, Bucky,” Steve said.  “I love you, Bucky, you know that.”  
  
“Steve, Stevie,” Bucky said.  He had the most conflicted look on his face.  
  
“Talk to me, Buck,” Steve begged.  “Tell me what you’re feeling.  Tell me what it feels like, sweetheart, please.”  
  
Bucky drew a shuddering breath. “I remember — I remember when we were lovers, Stevie, of course I do. We were always in love, weren’t we?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Steve said.    
  
“This — it feels — it’s scaring me, Steve — I wasn’t supposed — they didn’t like —“  Bucky’s voice broke as he tried to talk through his trauma.  
  
“I’m so sorry they hurt you,” Steve said.  “They can’t hurt you now. You’re safe, safe with me, Buck, I love you so much.”  
  
“I know you do, Stevie,” Bucky said.  “I love you too,” Bucky’s eyes closed as his hips gave a little involuntary twitch against Steve’s thigh.  
  
“It’s okay, Bucky,” Steve reassured.  “It’s okay to feel good, I want you to, Bucky, I want you to feel good, okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky moaned, thrusting a little.  “Oh, Stevie.”  
  
“Is it good?” Steve pressed.  He was so hard, he couldn’t help it.  Feeling Bucky right there, moving against him, the warm smell of Bucky all around and in his bed — it was everything Steve had been dying for inside — almost everything.  
  
“It’s — it’s so much — I think it’s — Stevie!” Bucky moaned.    
  
“You’re safe, it’s okay, do it, Bucky — go ahead — “ Steve rambled.    
  
“I’m afraid,” Bucky moaned, his voice hitching.    
  
“It’s okay, I promise — it’s good, you remember, how good it is, baby, I got you, okay, just let go, I promise,” Steve said randomly, head spinning.    
  
“Stevie, Stevie, oh!” Bucky said, and came, shaking, against Steve’s leg.    
  
“Bucky,” Steve said, so hard, so desperate, unwilling to ask for what he needed.  
  
Bucky panted, getting his breath back, and opened his eyes — his beautiful, sex-blown-black blue eyes.  His face was flushed, his lips red and full.  He was so fucking beautiful to Steve.    
  
“Steve — I — I can’t,” Bucky said, and those gorgeous eyes flooded with sadness, guilt and shame.    
  
“It’s okay, I swear,” Steve said, biting his lip, “I promise. it’s okay.” His erection throbbed in his boxers, belying his words.    
  
“No,” Bucky said.  “It’s really not.” He rolled over, away from Steve, and went to the bathroom to clean up.  
  
“Jarvis, release the restraints,” Steve called, after the bathroom door snicked closed.  
  
“Of course, Captain,” Jarvis said, and Steve sat up and rolled his limbs around. He was always a little stiff in the mornings after several hours restrained in one position, but it only lasted for a few moments. Then the serum kicked in and fixed him up, like always.    
  
Bucky hadn’t come out of the bathroom.  With a sigh, Steve went down the hall to the palatial bath and took care of himself in the rainshower.  
  
When he got back to his bedroom, Bucky wasn’t there.  Steve got dressed and went to the kitchen.  
  
Bucky was frying bacon and eggs.   He couldn’t stomach the bacon yet, so Steve knew it was for him.  
  
“That smells fantastic,” Steve said, trying for cheer.  He was a little bit of a mess inside — so happy that Bucky had gotten off — but then, the way Bucky had reacted, it was clearly one more problem they would have to work through.    
  
Bucky didn’t answer, he just poured Steve’s coffee, set out the milk and orange juice with toast and jams and butter,  and filled the toaster oven with a second round of whole grain bread.    
  
“I already called Ms. Johnstone,” Bucky said. “She can see us at 10.”  
  
“Okay,” Steve said. “That’s good.”   He bit into a piece of toast to give himself a moment to think. “Um, is it an emergency?”  
  
Bucky’s eyes were big and they were very, very expressive.  Bucky’s look said, yes, you dumb fuck.  “No,” he said.  “But … I just want to talk.  You always say I should talk if I want.”  
  
“Absolutely,” Steve said firmly. “You should talk. You can talk right now, if you want.  Whatever you’re feeling, Bucky, I’m here for you, okay?”  
  
“I can’t touch it,” Bucky said, looking aside.    
  
Steve’s heart sank.  “Okay,” he said.  
  
“No, it’s not god damned okay!”  Bucky shouted, then paled, and sank into himself.    
  
Steve felt so helpless.  “Bucky, it’s okay for you to feel angry.  I’m not mad.  You’re safe.  No one’s gonna hurt you.”  In fact, Steve was mad, he was furious every time he had to talk Bucky down when he got terrified he’d overstepped his bounds.  But he wasn’t mad at Bucky, never at Bucky.  
  
“They hurt me, Steve — they hurt me so bad, all the time,” Bucky cried. He didn’t look up, he didn’t unwind from around himself. “They — they used me.  They used me — like that, okay? I guess it’s pro’ly not in the file.”  
  
Steve ached to see Bucky so sad, in so much pain. “I’m so sorry, Buck,” he said, wishing so much that he could just give Bucky a comforting embrace, hating that he couldn’t. Bucky’s revelation didn’t surprise Steve.  There were hints, little nasty hints, riddled throughout the file, about the Asset’s usefulness.    
  
“I’m so sorry about all the things they did, Bucky,” Steve said again.  “Whatever you need, I’m here.”  
  
“I did it to you!” Bucky seethed, raising angry eyes to Steve.  “I got off on you.  But.  You said.  And we used to…”  
  
“Bucky, sweetheart, I promise, it’s okay — we love each other.  It’s okay for you to get off on me.  I want that.  I want it so much.  I promise.” Steve didn’t know how his heart could hurt so much and not stop beating.    
  
“But I.  I can’t.” Bucky said.    
  
“That’s okay,” Steve said.  
  
“It makes me sick. Kind of sick. To think about it,” Bucky said, in a very small voice.    
  
“I’m glad you called Ms. Johnstone,” Steve said.  “You remember what she always says.  It feels bad today, but it might feel better tomorrow.”  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky said, with a weak little laugh.    
  
Steve ate all the bacon Bucky had fried for him.  Bucky ate some toast and a little of the eggs, and drank one of Bruce’s smoothies out of the fridge.  They met with Ms. Johnstone at 10. For Bucky’s sake, she came to the Tower.  
  
“This is a huge step forward,” she said.  “It may not feel like that right now, but the return of your sexual feelings for Steve is very healthy, Bucky.”  
  
“I feel awful,” Bucky sobbed.    
  
“What makes you feel that way?” she asked.  
  
“I took advantage of Steve… I used him,” Bucky choked.  
  
“Did you hurt him?” she asked.  
  
“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.  No.”  
  
“Did he ask you to stop?” she asked.  
  
“No,” he said. “He told me to keep going.”  
  
“Did you ask him, before, if he wanted it?” she asked.  
  
“Kind of,” he admitted.  
  
“What did he say?” she asked.  
  
“He said he wanted it, that it was good,” he whispered. “But what if, what if he was just afraid, he didn’t want me to hurt him, he didn’t want it to hurt anymore…”  
  
“Oh, Bucky,” Steve said, tears streaming down his face.    
  
“Steve, do you think you could tell Bucky what you were thinking?”  
  
“Bucky, I was just so glad, that you could feel good again. I wasn’t afraid.  I wanted you to feel good.  I promise.  I want that for you, so much.”  
  
“But you were hard, and I didn’t — I couldn’t — ” Bucky said.  
  
“That’s okay,” Steve said.  At that moment, he wholeheartedly wished he would never get hard again, if it shook Bucky up that badly.    
  
“It’s okay,” Steve repeated, looking at Ms. Johnstone.  “I don’t need that.  I don’t care.  I just want what makes Bucky feel better.”  
  
Ms. Johnstone looked seriously at the two of them. “Right now, I think you mean that.  Our primary goal is for Bucky to feel better, yes, and the more issues we’re able to talk through, the better equipped you’ll both be to deal with those issues.  But it’s okay to have secondary goals, things you want for yourselves.”  
  
“Not if it scares him,” Steve said, flatly.  
  
“Steve,” Bucky protested.    
  
“Huh?” Steve said, a little surprised.  
  
“It scares me,” Bucky said.  “But I want it.  I mean. That’s a goal.  Of course.  I want, what we had.  I remember.  I love you.”  
  
Bucky choked out his little sentences, such small, broken phrases, full of so much meaning.    
  
“You’ve been doing well — with the restraints,” Ms. Johnstone said.  It embarrassed Steve to talk about such things with a lady, but she reminded him to let her do her job, and he blushed, and told himself to do better, and he did. “There’s another kind of restraint, that you could try,” she suggested.  
  
Steve stared blankly.    
  
“You could give Bucky control of your erection,” she said.  
  
Bucky looked up.  
  
Steve shook his head.  “I don’t understand.”  
  
“There’s such a thing as a male chastity device,” she went on determinedly.  “I know this may sound shocking.  You should take a while to think over the idea. I just want to reassure you that it’s safe and it’s not painful. I’ve seen some good results with couples who use the device, not only to promote fidelity, but to open up more communication around sexual desire.”  
  
Steve’s mind was a blank.  “I don’t understand,” he repeated.  
  
“I’ll send you a link,” Ms. Johnstone said.  “Just think about it, and let me know if you decide to proceed, just so I can help the two of you talk about how you are feeling.”  
  
“Okay,” Steve said, still not sure what he was agreeing to.    
  
“It for sure won’t hurt him,” Bucky said, brooking no argument.  
  
“Positive.”  
  
“Hm,” Bucky said.    
  
Steve was shocked when he opened the link Ms. Johnstone sent.  He showed it to Bucky.    
  
“Hm,” Bucky said.  
  
“You think I should do it?” Steve said.  It was pretty alarming, but if it was for Bucky, he’d do it, no question.  
  
“Maybe,” Bucky said.    
  
Bucky often said “maybe” when he kind of wanted something but didn’t want to seem pushy, so Steve took note, and ordered the device.    
  
That night, putting himself into his restraints made Steve a little nervous.  What if Bucky didn’t want to be near him after what had happened? But Bucky came to bed like usual and snuggled up against him like he’d gotten used to.  
  
“Bucky, it feels so good having you next to me like this,” Steve said. “Does it feel good to you?”  
  
Bucky snorted.  “I woke up this morning humping your leg, Steve.  I think it feels pretty damn good.”  
  
Steve laughed, and Bucky gave him a crooked smile, and they fell asleep.    
  
The next morning, they both woke up with morning wood.  Steve woke up first, with Bucky twitching in his sleep against him like before.  He didn’t want Bucky to feel pressured one way or another, but at the same time, he wanted Bucky to know that he was desired.  He held still in his restraints and softly said Bucky’s name until he awoke.  
  
“Good morning, Buck,” Steve said with a smile.    
  
“Mm, morning, Stevie,” Bucky mumbled.  He often came awake with a rush of adrenaline, so this slower awakening made Steve happy.  
  
“I’d be glad to help you with that,” Steve said, hoping Bucky could hear the smile in his voice.    
  
“Mmm,” Bucky mumbled, shifting a little, but holding Steve even closer. “I just wanna lay here, Stevie, I don’t wanna think about it.”  
  
“That’s fine, I’m not going anywhere,” Steve smiled.  His own erection wasn’t urgent, he was just happy to feel Bucky’s interest, and glad that the difficult emotions of the day before hadn’t interfered with Bucky’s reawakening desire.    
  
They lay there together for another little while, enjoying a lovely moment together before the day started.  After four or five hours of sleep they were pretty well-rested, and Steve felt fidgety if he didn’t get up and go work out. Before long, Bucky kissed Steve lightly on the arm and swung out of bed, heading for the bathroom. Steve was careful to respect Bucky’s privacy, so when the door closed, he went to the elaborate bathroom and took his morning shower. His memories filled his imagination with a thousand times that Bucky had touched him, just the way he liked. The shower washed away the evidence and Steve thought he could be happy this way, as long as Bucky was happy too.     
  
When he went to breakfast, Bucky was making oatmeal.  Even though they’d practically lived on the stuff as kids, it always tasted good, with organic whole milk and a little bit of sugar, nuts and cinnamon and whatever fruit was currently available.  Today, it was just plain apples, but Bucky had added raisins and cashews, and the breakfast was filling and delicious; best of all, it suited Bucky’s stomach.    
  
“Have you thought any more about that device Ms. Johnstone mentioned?” Bucky asked, abruptly.    
  
“I already ordered it,” Steve said.    
  
Bucky blushed and looked away.  “I feel ashamed, again,” he said, wrinkling his nose.  “You shouldn’t be punished just because I’m messed up.”  
  
“I don’t consider it a punishment,” Steve said.  “I know it might look that way.  But reading up on it, there are a lot of different ways people use this kind of thing. I already take care of myself at least once a day — you don’t want me to stop that, do you?”  
  
“No,” Bucky said, turning even redder.  
  
“So if I’m not wearing it 24/7, but only at night — I think it’s a small price to pay for being there for you and helping you feel safe.  Whatever you need, that’s what I’m gonna do.”  
  
“Maybe,” Bucky said.  “Maybe, it’ll be like she always says — today will be difficult, but tomorrow might be better.”  
  
“Exactly,” Steve said.    
  
The device came in the mail the next day. It was some kind of resin, and Steve was grateful to see that he fit inside it without any trouble.  He had a nightmare image of his super soldier hard on shattering the thing into pieces… but that seemed pretty unlikely.    
  
After taking care of himself, he fastened the device in place inside his boxers and came to bed, and lay down into his restraints like he’d done every night for a couple of months now.    
  
Bucky came to bed, a bit tentative.  “You got it on?”  
  
“Yeah,” Steve said. For a moment he felt his vulnerability — trapped and restrained in just one more small way that felt like a tipping point — but then the feeling faded.    
  
“How does it feel?” Bucky asked.  “Does it hurt?”  
  
“It doesn’t hurt,” Steve assured him.    
  
“Can I…” Bucky looked at him with big blue eyes, soft and concerned. “Can I touch it?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Steve said.  “It’s always okay for you to touch me, Bucky.  I’ll always want your touch, I promise.”  
  
Bucky’s right hand landed soft on Steve’s belly, drifting downward across the boxers Steve wore to bed for Bucky’s sake.  Bucky’s hand gently explored the device, and Steve couldn’t feel it. That was the point.  Nothing happened.    
  
“Does it make you feel safe?” Steve asked.  He was used to locking himself down by the hands and feet every night; he would go much further than a chastity device to help Bucky feel safer in their bed and in their life together.  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky said, very quiet. “I’m sorry, Steve.  I miss it, you know?”  
  
“I know,” Steve said.  “Maybe tomorrow.”  
  
Bucky cuddled in, closer and warmer than he ever had, and kissed Steve’s cheek before laying his head on Steve’s shoulder.  “I love you, Stevie — I love you so much.”  
  
“I love you too, Bucky,” Steve replied.    
  
In the morning, Steve woke up.  His dick was still inside the device, and nothing bad had happened over night: no shards of device were imbedded in the walls and ceiling in a blast radius around the bed.  He chuckled a little at the thought, and spent the next few moments enjoying the wonderful warmth of Bucky spread out all over him.    
  
“Mm, good morning, Steve,” Bucky mumbled.    
  
“Good morning, Bucky,” Steve answered.    
  
“You feel so good, so warm,” Bucky went on.  Bucky was sporting, and Steve wondered what would happen next.  
  
“It feels so good to wake up with you holding me like this,” Steve said.  His arms were stretched out by his head, wrists locked in cuffs, feet locked down, dick held secure in a restraining device — none of that mattered compared to the feel of that precious head, long ticklish tresses, and one metal arm resting heavy on his chest.    
  
“Stevie, I wanna — can I — is that too awful?” Bucky stumbled to ask.  
  
“Bucky, I love you.  Do whatever you need — it makes me so happy when you feel good.”  
  
Bucky began to thrust against his hip.  “Is it okay?” he whispered.  
  
Steve felt the device as his dick tried to fill but couldn’t.  “It’s okay, it’s fine,” he reassured Bucky.    
  
“Oh, Stevie, you’re so gorgeous, you always been the most beautiful thing,” Bucky crooned, and then, he fastened on to Steve’s left nipple with a sucking kiss and a hint of teeth.  Steve had sensitive nipples, always had — Bucky had loved to torment him like that back in the old days.  
  
“Oh, yeah, Bucky!” Steve said.  It was such a weird sensation, the tingling rush from his nipple, the urge in his dick, but nothing could come from it.  His dick didn’t fill.  The tingling sensation of arousal spread throughout his body, tantalizing, but good.  The device wasn’t padlocked; in a while he could let himself out and do what he wanted; in the meantime, it was a gorgeous sensation of desire and delay.  Steve was shocked to find that he loved it.  
  
Bucky moved against him in a sensuous dance. Bucky had always been graceful, and making love was another extension of his beautiful body and its sinuous movements.  Steve relaxed in his bonds, and let Bucky move, listening to his little moans and hitching breaths, the music he made as he rode out his pleasure.  Steve felt a yearning for Bucky that transcended physical desire: something inside him wanted to be as close to Bucky as he could possibly get, no matter what it took to get there.  His dick wasn’t hard, but Bucky’s was, and Bucky’s moans of completion as he came traveled like a wave of fire through Steve’s brain.  It wasn’t like an orgasm at all.  But it was good, pure and sweet to give Bucky what he needed, even though it may have seemed like Steve had gotten nothing in return. As the fire in him calmed and cooled, as Bucky held him, catching his breath, Steve felt like he’d been given a precious gift, something invisible, but perfect.    
  
“Are you gonna take it off now?” Bucky asked.  
  
“Yeah, I guess — if that’s okay,” Steve said.  
  
“I’m not making you wear that thing alla time,” Bucky said, frowning.  
  
“But if it makes you feel safe,” Steve said,  “I’ll do whatever you want.  It’s fine.”  
  
Bucky thought for a while.  “The website said you should wear it in the shower, but that sounds awful.  Why dontcha take it off, and do your thing, then put it back on.  Whaddaya think.”  
  
Steve loved the sound of Bucky’s relaxed voice, his thick Brooklyn accent with no trace of the Soldier, rumbling against his chest.  He’d do anything for more moments like this.  
  
“That sounds fine to me,” he answered.  “But, the thought of leaving it on in the shower, and then using a hair dryer to dry everything off?”  
  
Bucky laughed.  “New meaning for ‘wienie roast.’”  
  
Steve groaned and laughed and the two of them giggled for a long time, feeling more like the boys they’d been together than they had since Bucky’s return.  
  
Bucky got tired of being sticky and took himself off to the bathroom, and Steve made his usual trek across the floor to the palatial bath.  The rainshower, the jacuzzi, the sauna room, the entertainment center, the wet bar — Steve and Bucky had counted themselves fortunate that their place on Montague street had its own sink with cold water, so Steve had never even dreamed what a so-called bathroom might encompass for the billionaire playboy set.  It was all so luxurious, and Steve would be a fool and a liar if he tried to deny that he enjoyed it.  The perfectly hot shower, gently raining on him from above was really very nice.  Letting himself out of the device, according to the website and discussion boards, should have been ecstasy, and of course, it did feel good. He came so hard his vision went dark and his knees almost buckled, but the physical release was nowhere near as important to him as the half hour he’d just spent happy and laughing with the love of his life secure at his side.    
  
He dried off thoroughly and put the device back on. It was really quite comfortable, holding him snug and safe inside the compression shorts he wore for working out.  
  
Bucky was serving vegetable omelets and came with him to the gym.  The day had gotten off to a fantastic start and it stayed good all day. Bucky was relaxed and smiled and talked to Steve.  When evening came they watched _The Wizard of Oz_ , which they’d seen in the theater not long ago for them, even though they’d both liked the books so much better.  Bucky’s favorite Oz character was Tik Tok, because he’d always been fascinated by robots; while Steve liked Billina, the talking yellow hen.    
  
“Becky wanted to grow up to be a fairy queen,” Bucky recalled.  
  
Steve smiled.  “I remember; she was so glad that Ozma got to be a boy before she became queen.”  
  
“I still think we should go to meet her kids,” Steve said.    
  
“Yeah,” Bucky said.    
  
“Yeah?” Steve said, excited.  
  
“I just wanna, you know, not fall apart if one of ‘em looks like Ma,” Bucky said.    
  
“Yeah,” Steve said.    
  
Bucky’s three sisters had had ten kids between them; there were dozens of second and even third cousins in the Barnes clan nearly one hundred years after Bucky’s birth.  They had contacted Steve after he was found, inviting him to their annual reunion and sharing stories with him about Bucky’s family. Steve hadn’t gone, but now that Bucky was back, he felt a stronger connection. The possibility that Bucky might go to meet some of his relatives made Steve feel hopeful, like some of their lost past might be regained. They went to bed that night feeling cheerful, with Bucky snuggled close to Steve, smiling as they said good night.  
  
Steve’s commitment to wearing the device brought about a change in Bucky, even faster than when Steve had begun sleeping in restraints.  Bucky began to touch Steve more often, gentle and familiar and possessive, like he had been in the old days.  His expressions loosened up; he wasn’t on his guard all the time like he had been. Steve was still prepared for explosions, furious lashouts, bleak days and flashbacks, and those things still happened sometimes, but Bucky seemed to have regained his footing at last.    
  
They were lying in bed one night, Bucky’s right hand idly tracing up and down Steve’s belly.  It should have been maddening, but it wasn’t. Steve had discovered a place of warm languor, his arousal melting over into an allover feeling of love and happiness and relaxation.  Being next to Bucky was a miracle several times over, and the decision not to bring his dick into it didn’t really impact Steve’s happiness all that much.    
  
“Steve,” Bucky said.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve answered.  
  
“I wanna tell you something.”  
  
“All ears,” Steve murmured, lost in his lover’s soothing touch as Bucky stroked his belly.    
  
“Don’t get mad,” Bucky said. “I mean.  I know you’ll get mad.  But don’t let it ruin your day, or anything.”  
  
“What is it?” Steve asked.  
  
“I just feel like I should explain,” Bucky said.  “About this.” His hand floated down across Steve’s groin, where his dick was encased in its restraint.  
  
“I’m listening,” Steve said.    
  
“They used me,” he said.  “They did so many things to me.  I mean, primarily, I was still a sniper.  I’m not sure exactly why they needed an amnesiac super soldier to do jobs any sniper could do — but who knows  what Hydra was thinking.  Part of it, I think, was just the concept of it.  It was irresistible to them, having a Soldier like me completely under their control. I guess all the missions they sent me on were considered successes, so in a way, it worked.  But I think a big part of it was just that so many of them were sadists.  They had me under their absolute control.  As long as the mission was achieved, they could do whatever they wanted — hurt me, abuse me, torture me, order me to service them.  So they did.  They made me service them — however they wanted.  They made me ask for it. Sometimes, they wanted me to come for them, but usually they just punished my dick if it got interested.”  
  
Steve didn’t want to interrupt while Bucky let it all out.  His dry, matter-of-fact voice sounded like the Soldier voice he sometimes used in flashbacks, when he thought he needed to report. But the phrasing was more like Bucky’s.  Ms. Johnstone had explained to them how Bucky would need to process his memories, accept all that Hydra had done to him and the things they had made him do, forgive himself for what he couldn’t control.  He was allowed, now, to feel the grief and the rage, when before, they had punished him for any expression of emotion.  Bucky had resisted them as much as he could — he had fought back, run away, killed or injured Hydra personnel — but always at a terrible price.  They had dealt him injuries that would have meant certain death for anyone else — but he had lived.  Ultimately, he had broken free and come home to Steve. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, such inadequate words for the depths of what he felt.  
  
Bucky patted him, a little comforting gesture to let Steve know that he knew he wasn’t alone.  “I just wanna say.  I’m sorry you have to wear this thing.  You would never hurt me, I know that.  I trust you.  I want to.  I want to be okay around your dick again, to love every part of you, like it should be.  But, I can’t.  I’m not ready, not yet.”   Bucky shivered a little, and Steve wished his arms were free.    
  
“Bucky, could I hug you, just for a minute?” Steve couldn’t keep the pleading out of his voice.    
  
“Yeah.  I think so,” Bucky said.  Steve could hear his anxious swallow.  Bucky was a lot more comfortable hugging than being hugged.    
  
“Jarvis, please release my arms,” Steve said.    
  
The cuffs snapped open and Steve slowly lowered his arms around Bucky.  “Is it okay?”  Steve said.    
  
“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. His body was tense in Steve’s arms, but not shaking.    
  
“Can I stroke you, touch your hair?” Steve asked.    
  
“Yes,” Bucky said.    
  
Steve stroked him and touched him and Bucky slowly relaxed.  
  
“We’re gonna do this,” Steve murmured.  “We’re gonna get to a place where the things they did don’t matter any more.  Whatever you need from me is what you’re gonna get, I swear it.”  
  
“I believe you,” Bucky said.  “As if I’d ever doubt you when you set your mind to something.”  
  
Steve smiled.  His whole life he’d been a slave to the dare, never backing down from even the most impossible challenge.    
  
“The things we’re not ready for today, we might be ready for tomorrow,” Steve promised.  “We’ll just keep moving forward until that day comes.”  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky said peacefully.  “Maybe tomorrow.”  
  
Steve stroked Bucky until he felt asleep.  The room was dark and warm.  They were safe.  They had everything they needed.  Peacefulness filled Steve’s heart.  To his core, Steve was a striver, always yearning for things to be better than they were.  But with Bucky getting better, curled up next to him, Steve was almost content.  
  
He put his arms back into the restraints and went to sleep, ready for tomorrow.  

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought!
> 
> I had one question. Would a therapist really refer Steve to such a device? I don't know. But maybe? Here are two articles in respectable sources, indicating that BDSM is more widely accepted now among mental health professionals. (even though this story is not BDSM)
> 
> http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2015/01/bdsm-versus-the-dsm/384138/
> 
> https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/unique-everybody-else/201307/bdsm-personality-and-mental-health
> 
>  
> 
> If you have suggestions for the kink list let me know. I also take more specific prompts. 
> 
> I appreciate your kudos and comments so much! Thanks for taking this journey with me.


End file.
